"Pardon my intrusion, my friends, but about my fee…"
"Worry about that later," said Hawk. "Buchan…"
"But…"
"I said later!" Hawk glared at Lacey, and the informer backed quickly away. Hawk turned back to Buchan, who was still standing in a daze. "I think we ought to get moving, sir Buchan. The riot won't wait for us to get there."
"Of course. I'm sorry. I just never really thought it would happen, that's all. There hasn't been a serious riot on the Street in almost seventy years."
"Seventy-one," said Lacey. No one paid any attention.
"You're the expert," Hawk said to Buchan. "What's the best thing to do?"
"Pray," said Buchan. "But make sure you pick the right God."
Hawk could hear the riot long before he could see it. Screams of rage and horror and anguish blended into a rising cacophony of sound that permeated the night air. The Street of Gods felt strangely out of synch, as though the various realities that made it up were no longer in alignment. Churches appeared and disappeared, and doors changed shape. Unnatural lights blazed in the starless sky, spread across the night like colour on a madman's palette. A surging vibration trembled in the ground underfoot, like the slow, regular heartbeat of something indescribably huge, buried down below.
Hawk and Fisher ran down the Street, weapons at the ready. They'd been running for some time, but the riot didn't seem to be getting any nearer. The Street was like that, sometimes, but at that moment it wasn't doing a thing for Hawk's nerves. He breathed deeply, trying to get more air into his lungs, and hoped his second wind would kick in soon. Fisher seemed to be struggling a little too, and she could usually run him into the ground. Buchan, on the other hand, was loping effortlessly along beside them, as though he covered this kind of distance every day before breakfast and thought nothing of it. With his physique, maybe he did. Hawk tried to stick with that train of thought, but his mind insisted on bringing him back to what passed for reality on the Street of Gods. The Guard communications sorcerer hadn't been very specific about how bad the riot was, but he wouldn't have sent out a general alarm like that unless his superiors had been sure something extremely nasty was happening up ahead.
He wondered briefly where Tomb and Rowan were. They'd disappeared even before Hawk had left God Squad headquarters, but there was no sign of them on the Street. Maybe they knew a shortcut. Maybe they'd already got to the riot, and had things safely under control. Yeah, thought Hawk sourly, and while I'm wishing, I'd like a fortune in jewels as well, please. The constant roar of noise was growing louder, uglier and more violent by the minute. Hawk rounded a comer that hadn't been there the last time he'd been this way, and then skidded to a halt, Fisher and Buchan piling up beside him. They'd found the riot.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of gaudily robed priests and acolytes were milling back and forth on the Street, furiously attacking each other with swords and fists and broken bottles. Everywhere there were bloody hands and faces, and unmoving bodies were being trampled blindly underfoot by the savage mob. Old hatreds were running loose and free, as age-old vendettas finally came to a head. Blinding lights flared from churches and temples, and overhead the sky churned sickly with uncontrolled magic. A handful of Guards had got there before Hawk and Fisher, and were fighting back to back on the edges of the crowd, too busy trying to stay alive to do anything about the riot. The Street belonged to the fanatics now, and they didn't care who they killed. A dozen green-robed priests swarmed over a Guard Constable and knocked him to the ground. He disappeared behind a host of swinging boots.
Hawk and Fisher waded in to help. Whatever else was happening. Guards looked after their own. They had to. No one else would. Hawk's axe swept back and forth in short, vicious arcs, and blood flew on the air. The priests scattered, and Fisher cut down those who didn't move fast enough. No one attacked a Guard and got away with it. It might give people ideas. The remaining priests disappeared into the crowd, and Buchan stood guard as Hawk and Fisher got the battered Constable to his feet and led him to the safety of a recessed doorway. There was blood on his face and his legs were shaky, but he seemed more or less intact. He nodded his thanks, and tried to get his thoughts together.
"Have you been here long?" asked Hawk.
"Can't be more than ten, twenty minutes," said the Constable breathlessly. "But it seems like forever. Just my luck to be working a beat so close to the Street of Gods when the riot call came…"
"Do you know what caused all this?" said Fisher.
"Seems another God has been murdered," said the Constable. He paused to wipe blood out of his eyes. Buchan passed him an immaculately clean handkerchief, and the Constable pressed it gingerly to his forehead. "The Lord of the New Flesh is dead. Someone ripped both its hearts right out of its breast. The High Priest found the body less than an hour ago. Didn't take long for word to get around. We don't know who actually started the riot. Could have been anybody."
"Details can wait," said Fisher. "How many more Guards are there already here?"
"There were seventeen. We all got here about the same time, but the crowd separated us. We'd better get some reinforcements here soon. The Beings are mad as hell and scared spitless. It's only a matter of time before one of them decides to take a hand personally. And you can bet your arse if one God comes out onto the Street, they all bloody will. Where the hell's the God Squad? They're supposed to prevent things like this from happening!"
"They're here somewhere," said Hawk, carefully not looking at Buchan. "We'll just have to try and keep the lid on things until they get their act together. Has anybody sent for the SWAT team?"
The Guard smiled sourly. "First thing we did when we got here was to scream for the SWAT team. But according to the communications sorcerer, they're busy dealing with an emergency on the other side of the city. Typical. They're never bloody around when they're needed. We need them here! We can't cope with this!"
"Take it easy," said Fisher. "We're just Guards, not heroes. No one expects us to cope with everything. We just do the best we can." She broke off to wave urgently at a contingent of Guards running down the Street toward them. "Look; you join up with this bunch, and fill them in on the situation. We'll do what we can here. Now move it!"
The Constable nodded briefly, and moved off to intercept the newcomers. Hawk and Fisher looked at the growing riot, and then at Buchan.
"If it was up to me," said Hawk, "I'd just let them get on with it. With a bit of luck all the fanatics would kill each other off and the Street of Gods would be a far more peaceful place. But, unfortunately, the Constable was right. If we don't break this up, the Gods will get involved. And if that happens, I for one am not hanging around to see who wins. I am going to beg, borrow, or steal a pair of fast horses, and you can wave Fisher and me goodbye as we head for the nearest horizon."
Buchan looked at Fisher. "He really would, wouldn't he?"
"No," said Fisher. "He's not that sensible. He always did think about his duty too damned much. And since I won't leave without him, it looks like we're here for the duration." She looked out over the frenzied mob and shook her head disgustedly. "I've seen smaller armies. You're the expert, Buchan. How do we handle this?"
"Clear the Street," said Buchan firmly. "Don't worry about the Gods; Tomb and Rowan will take care of them if necessary. The rioters are our responsibility."
"Get everyone off the Street," said Hawk. "Just like that?"
"It's not difficult," said Buchan. "We just have to make them more scared of us than they are of anything else. They may look dangerous, but most of them aren't armed, and those who are probably don't have much combat experience. Either way, they're no match for professionals like us."